Bora born

Lagoon street blues _

Grassed out, fox-tailed shadows, circle right then
left, the most beautiful gig in the world.
Saturday bytes on the Cairns esplanade
the crazy lagoon not so far away.

A family affair, sing Aimee's 'Kims Song'
two and a half, to a ripped eighty-five.
Pop's pacemaker rezapped, batteries refreshed
to JJ Cales strong Wilson Pickets vibes.

Emma rebounds from the shuffled play list
Kims' Song zones in on her own inner find.
Three hours of blues, beat box, foot slap tappin
on an ocean boulivard of clapton hand jives.

Pop's to the side like a foxtail swaying
he picks out the beat, tamborine in hand.
A Saint Nicholas beard, tied in a bow
framed by a smile most lost girls understand.

Then there's Gordon on slide on a sometimes
lead guitar, late for a monsoon wedding.
From base to lead to rhythm in tight turns
so much talent he could play while sleeping.

Lennies on bongos, a dark shade of pale
'After midnight' played hard when he was born.
Dreads so long had the blood nut girl purring
indifference the best move, he's been around.

Johno's hard rips on blues harp, steal with ease
a back beat, so deep in your mind, sunk inside.
The voice gravelled in guts, served twice around
in a slow rhythm delta blues decides.

- O -

© aug 2007 _ Nhawrr yirrpa


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Lagoon street blues _

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